One Week

Fandom: CSI:NY

Author: Kimmychu

Rating: FRAO (we're talkin' Karma Sutra-rating here)

Pairing: Danny/Flack

Content Warning: Major sexual tension, Flack-snark overload, dirty thoughts. Lotsa dirty thoughts.

Spoilers: Meh, nothing important, but to be safe, post Season 2.

Summary: Danny and Flack love to dance the horizontal tango. Everyday. Three times a day. And night. But one day, Flack says yes, and Danny says no. What will Flack the sex maniac do when his lover gives him the ultimatum of no sex … for one whole week?

Disclaimer: YES, THEY BELONG TO ME - I mean, why, of course not, they're just fictional … hot … characters. Mmm, hot.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Author's Notes: All I have to say for this installment is … I hope it's funny. Heh.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO

ii. Nagabandha Sangara

Danny was dying again, possibly for the fifteenth time that week.

"Lemme do … all the work, babe."

Danny moaned audibly, fingers coiling into the bedspread and blanket rumpled beneath his curved body. Flack resumed thrusting languidly into him, caressing his thigh, lower back and flank with ardent strokes. He hid his flushed, warm face into the pillow under his head, only to feel Flack run fingers through his tangled hair and coax him into looking up.

"Hey, don't hide." Flack brushed a thumb across the CSI's moist lower lip. "Good-lookin' face like that … total crime to hide it."

Danny couldn't reply for a few minutes. The way he was lying on his side, his thighs at a ninety degree angle to his torso, with Flack looming over him and moving in and out his body from behind his closed legs …

"Don, I'm sore … I mean it -" His rasped words abruptly cut off with a sharp whimper. The homicide detective had gone in especially deep.

"But you're feelin' good?" Flack's low voice was husky.

Danny gazed into Flack's blue, intense eyes above him. He sucked in a quick breath at another deep thrust, toes curling downwards. The throbbing feeling between his legs was beginning to transform into a soreness that wasn't the pleasant kind. But he couldn't deny it. His entire body was still shuddering with fierce pleasure.

He finally nodded unsteadily, biting his lip. Flack was picking up speed, burying himself to the hilt with every thrust. Danny's head fell back on the pillow, hands bunched into fists in the red softness. Eyes scrunched shut, teeth gnawing lip, groaning loudly at the near painful sensation of Flack's hard cock pushing its way between his buttocks. Due to their current positions, with his thighs touching each other and how his body was bowed, Flack felt massive, stretching him beyond his limits.

The shorter man slid one hand down to his groin, wrapping it around his seeping erection. He moaned at the additional stimuli, shivers coursing through his body when Flack enclosed a large hand over his own.

"Danny …"

Flack's thrusts were becoming inconsistent, going short and fast, then deep and hard. The taller detective's lanky and sweaty body was trembling. The guy was close, very close. Danny let out high-pitched whimpers that grew louder and louder with each thrust. They struck the sweet spot within his body unerringly every time. Fuck, Flack was good.

"Uhh … I'm comin' -" Flack grinded his hips hard against the shorter man's round bottom, going rigid, long fingers digging into Danny's thigh.

Danny stared with large eyes at the rapture contorting the features of his lover's handsome visage, stretching a trembling arm towards the taller man's neck and tracing the defined musculature of the heaving chest below. The homicide detective's face went slack. He toppled forward, but even in his present state, he still had the awareness to stiffen his arms and stop himself from outright flattening Danny.

The CSI blinked.

His cock was still hard and dripping in his grasp.

Danny blinked again.

This was the first time in months that Flack had come first, before he did.

Flack nuzzled him in the neck, nibbling a path up to his ear and reaching downwards to his groin. Danny squirmed at the other man's strong hand touching his very sensitive erection. At contact, the taller detective stilled, then glanced down.

"Oh geez, babe, I didn't know." Flack gently rolled him onto his back and gave him a soft kiss of apology on his parted lips. "I'm sorry."

The taller man was still inside him, softening.

"I'm gonna pull out, 'kay?"

He was grateful for the forewarning. He could really feel the ache between his legs now. Even biting his lower lip couldn't stop him from wincing at Flack cautiously drawing out. And Flack saw it.

The self-reproach in those blue eyes hit Danny like a ton of bricks.

Danny tried to respond, to tell him it was okay, that it didn't hurt anymore. However, the only thing that shot out of his open mouth was a hoarse cry as Flack swallowed up his whole erection to the root, sucking and working on it with his lips and tongue.

"Oohh … oh, shit …"

The CSI grabbed at Flack's short hair, panting rapidly while he watched his lover's head bob up and down in a recognizable fashion. Danny couldn't move his hips at all, thanks to the other man gripping them and holding him down. He tossed his head on the pillow, begging with unintelligible words for surcease to the torture. Flack's agile tongue was doing things to his cock, spine-tingling things that made him want to burst into a million, bliss-filled pieces. As soon as the taller man wrapped his lips over the head and started pushing the tip of his tongue into the slit, Danny lost it.

It was ironic how he always came in near silence when he was considered by everyone he knew to be a very vocal person. At least this time, he managed to utter Flack's name in a throaty tone.

An eternity later, Flack was stroking his legs, murmuring sweet things to him. A touch to his face, a question asked. Danny wasn't sure. He couldn't tell what else was going on, his eyes shut in fatigue. It had been some time since he'd had seven orgasms in a single night, five triggered by fantastically energetic sessions of sex. Damn, he was getting old.

He rested on his back, arms spread out on the bed, sensing Flack moving away. He struggled to call his lover back to bed, and merely succeeded in making a small sound in his throat, rough from all his moaning and yelling. Danny had no clue how long Flack was gone or how long he laid there, half-asleep, the fluid on his belly drying. Then, he felt a damp cloth being rubbed over his abdomen, more tenderly between his legs. His foot twitched when the cloth was pressed directly against the raw ache there. Oh, that felt nice.

Danny heard the click of the bedside table lamp being switched off. The cloth still left between his legs, he was smoothly turned onto his side, pillow tucked properly under his head. Instantly, Flack was spooned up behind him, plastered to his body from head to toe. The blanket was tugged over their limp bodies.

A kiss on his shoulder and ear. Sturdy arms enveloping his torso, shelter in the semi-darkness. Breathing eventually leveling out.

Danny's blue eyes stayed closed, although his mind wouldn't go to rest. Something was bugging him.

His brows lowered in a frown. He listened to Flack's soothing breaths, hoping they would calm his brain down to let him sleep. Instead, he became even more alert, minutely shifting his legs and feeling the damp cloth compressed down there.

Sex. It was all they were doing lately.

His eyes half-opened, gazing into the distance.

True, it was phenomenal, and every time was as fucking good as the first time, that day over a year ago when Danny had gotten tired of waiting for Flack to quit staring at him and do something. Getting pounded until he couldn't walk straight in the CSI headquarters' locker room was still one of the hottest experiences in his life. Not to mention because it also happened to have been with one of the hottest men in his life.

Danny tightened his hand on Flack's relaxed one, going tense under the blanket.

Sex. That was all he ended up doing with his former girlfriends and the rare boyfriend too.

Right before things went downhill. And they dumped his ass because they got bored with him. Used him all up until he had nothing left to make them feel good anymore.

He twined his fingers with Flack's. Still sleeping, the homicide detective murmured something, fidgeting, then went motionless, back in a deep slumber. Danny's eyelids fluttered. He was getting that awful sinking sense in the pit of his stomach, that same one he got whenever he figured life was about to screw him in the nasty way and leave him hanging. Yet again.

Danny pulled Flack's arms tighter around himself, suddenly cold and despondent. He stroked agitatedly at the sleeping man's heavy forearm.

No. He couldn't afford to lose Flack. He lov-

The CSI promptly rolled around in Flack's embrace to face his lover, nestling his head under the slumbering man's chin and committing his natural scent and warmth to memory. Treasuring the reassuring weight of Flack's arms over and around him, their legs intertwined together.

No. He was not going to lose Flack.

He couldn't.

Danny's eyelids drooped over hot eyes in the dimness.

Because … how could somebody continue to exist with half of themselves missing?

iii. Madandhvaja

Flack chucked more crunchy pop corn into his gaping mouth, slouching haphazardly on Danny's battered couch, bare feet propped on the short coffee table. He brushed a few crumbs off his bare chest and checkered pajama pants. His blue eyes were wide with curiosity as they stared at the television screen.

"Geez, what kinda show is this?" Flack asked between chews, turning his head to look at Danny.

"Looks like some kinda modelin' competition or somethin'."

The CSI was dressed in a black tank top and dark blue track pants, sitting next to him, lean legs folded up in front of him. Danny was hugging a pillow too, watching the show with squinty eyes. Flack studied the other man's profile for a while with a tiny smile. He was wearing those steel, black-framed spectacles that Flack liked this evening. They gave the shorter detective an eye-catching, sophisticated appearance.

Flack placed the bowl of popcorn on his lap, shifting his gaze back to the television. He used his tongue to lick at a kernel that was stuck between his molars in the back of his mouth.

Huh, he knew female modeling shows were more common than there were skyscrapers in New York city … but a male modeling reality show? That was something he hadn't seen before. The homicide detective threw some more popcorn into his mouth. And judging from the expression on Danny's face, the guy didn't seem to think it was anything exciting either.

Then one noteworthy model appeared on screen.

Flack's munching slowed to a stop. He sat up and leaned forward to better scrutinize the brown-haired participant who was now being interviewed by the judges.

Whoa, hey, now this guy looked kinda hot.

Flack angled his head, ruminating over why he thought that. He went back to chewing on the popcorn in his mouth.

The model wasn't wearing a shirt, displaying a wiry, muscular body and well-developed arms. He had short, spiked up hair. Nice blue eyes. Nice smile too, like a cat's. Hmmmm. Had an interesting accent as well, not a New York one, though it was pleasing to listen to.

And hey. He wore glasses.

Flack grinned inwardly. Ohhh, he got it.

No wonder he thought the guy was cute. He looked just like Danny. Like a poor man's version of the real thing.

He grinned on the outside. Yeah, Danny was his. The real thing, babe.

"Oh, yeaah."

Flack had his gaze focused so intently on the television, he never noticed the dejected look Danny aimed at him, nor did he notice the shorter man slinking away. It took an engrossed Flack four minutes to become conscious of Danny's absence. He moved the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table, standing up and glancing around the living area with a slight frown.

"Dan?"

Flack scratched his head. Well, this was weird. Danny never upped and left just like that.

"Danny?"

He followed his instincts, heading for the bedroom. The door was half open, and he lightly pushed at it.

The bedside table lamps were switched on. There was a huddled bulge on the bed, swathed in the thick, dark red blanket Danny favored. All Flack could see of the man were tufts of brown hair sticking out from the top of said blanket. Danny had his back turned towards the bedroom door.

Flack scratched at his head a second time. Huh, Danny was asleep already?

The taller detective approached the bed, understanding dawning on him by the time he was clambering on all fours on the mattress. He grinned like a boy at the candy store.

Oh hoooh, the little, cunning brat … pretending he was sleeping in the bedroom so he could lure Flack to have some quality nookie time. Man, Flack loved the way Danny's brain worked sometimes.

"Daaaannnnnny." Flack touched the reclined man on one blanket-wrapped shoulder.

WHACK!

The open hand that clouted him right in the face came out of the blue. Flack was absolutely unprepared for it, tumbling backwards with a shout, head over heels onto the floor, his gangly legs sticking up in the air. Sprawled out like a ragdoll, he blinked a couple of times, staring with dazed eyes at the ceiling. His handsome visage was twisted into a comical expression.

Huhbuuuh? What the heck happened?

He blinked some more, then scrambled to his hands and knees, eyes peeping out past the top of the bed at the other man. Danny was still swaddled in the blanket, facing away.

Huuuh. Was this some kinda new foreplay thing he didn't know about? He had no idea Danny was into violence in the bedroom.

Flack cautiously crawled onto the bed once more, calling out his lover's name, hands reaching for the other man's bottom.

This time, there was no way in hell the homicide detective could mistake the foot in his face as anything except a painful foot in the face. He tumbled head over heels onto the floor for the second time that night, ending up with his butt in the air, warped like a human pretzel.

Ow.

Gravity decided to say hello, and his body toppled sideways to land on the floor with a heavy thud.

Ow. Again.

Flack rolled clumsily onto his tummy, head wobbling and one eye narrowed in a peculiar expression. What. The. Hell? He shook his head to clear it. Damn, Danny had one mighty kick. He waited for a few moments, then warily peeked over the top of the bed again.

The CSI was sitting upright on the bed, blanket around his shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest, lips were pursed into an irate line, blue eyes blazing. He was still wearing his spectacles.

Uh oh. Danny was angry. As in, really angry.

"D-Danny?" Flack got up and sat on the bed, wisely out of reach of those super chicken legs. "Uh, if this is some kinda new foreplay kink … I don't really -"

"Sex."

Flack blinked. "Huh?"

"Sex." Danny's glare became even more ferocious, blue eyes widening. "Sexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsex!" He inhaled sharply, looking like a red, puffed up frog. "SEX!"

Flack craned his head at a forty-five degree angle. What the, was this Danny's new way of asking for more nookie? The taller man sat where he was like a log, staring at his lover with the most perplexed expression in the universe. Oh man, this nuttiness was too much for his masculine brain to handle.

Flack always imagined the inside of his head to be like a special nuclear plant, filled with thousands and thousands of little Flacks in yellow safety helmets, rushing here and there to process every single thought and sensation. Right now, the nuclear reactor was overheating fast and heading for a total meltdown, and all the little Flacks were running around screaming their little heads off. One of the little clones was pointing at the flaming reactor, shrieking in a squeaky chipmunk voice, "He's gonna blooooooooooooooow!"

"Sex!" Danny was yanking at the blanket in exasperation. "That's all we ever do! Do ya realize that!"

The nuclear plant that was Flack's brain went out with a throttled puff. And all that blurted out from the homicide detective's gaping mouth in the aftermath was a very caveman-like, "Uuuhhhh …"

Danny refolded his arms in front of his chest, huffing crossly. "Tell me, Don, when was the last time we did somethin' together that didn't involve sex? Hmm? Hmmmmmm?"

"I … uhh …"

"Hhhhhmmmmmmmmmm?"

Oh, wait, his brain hadn't gone topsy turvy on him yet. Flack perked up. "We … uh, we went to watch that movie! Yeah, ya know, the one with those two cowboys." Flack made a face, talking in a droll parody of a southern accent. "I wish I knew how ta quuuuit you."

For a second, Danny's lips twitched perceptibly. Then he regained control of himself and grated out, "And do ya remember what ya did when we were in the cinema, hmmm?"

"Uhhm.' Flack scratched at his neck. "I, uh -"

"Ya fondled me. In public. In a cinema full of PEOPLE." The shorter man shot forward and smacked him hard on the chest.

Owww. Flack rubbed at the bruised area. Man, Danny was serious.

"But - but … ya liked it!"

The CSI spluttered, face red, hands gesticulating wildly. "That's not the POINT!"

Flack pouted, lower lip stuck out, crossing his own arms over his bare chest. "So what are ya on 'bout?"

Danny took a deep breath, holding up his hands in a conciliatory manner. "The point is … everythin' we do now is …" The hand waving about started anew. "It's always sex!"

"But … but, ya like sex." Flack pointed at himself. "I like sex." He threw up his arms. "We like sex!"

The shorter man glowered at Flack. After that, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, letting his head drop into his hands, face obscured.

"I didn't think I ever had to resort to this … but I gotta."

Flack watched Danny climbing off the bed with the blanket still around his shoulders, picking up a black ballpoint pen and a notepad from the dressing table. The homicide detective frowned, long fingers fiddling with the folds of his pajama pants. What was Danny up to now?

The CSI got back on the bed, sitting cross-legged and propping the notepad on his thigh. Danny gave him a mysterious look, then swiftly jotted something down on the first page.

"Here." Danny casually handed the notepad to him.

Flack squinted at the black words written on the paper, holding the page up close to his face.

"I, Danny Messer … hereby challenge Don Flack, Jr. to … an entire week of …" Flack's eyes became even narrower as he attempted to read aloud the last word. "Sehseh-leeh seh-leeeh-bah seeeh." He glanced at the other man with a bemused expression. "Whazzat?"

Danny was looking like an enraged, puffed up frog again. "CELIBACY!"

"Like I said," Flack said in all sincerity. "Whazzat?"

Danny stared at him with humongous, flabbergasted eyes, lower jaw sagging. Flack could fit a whole double decker bus in Danny's mouth right now.

"You. Don't know. What celibacy. Means."

The taller man pondered about it for a minute. It sounded familiar, but … "Nope. What's it mean?"

Danny continued to stare at him in shock.

Flack patiently awaited enlightenment.

"Don, celibacy means -"

Danny's lips started to move in slow motion. Even his voice sounded bizarre to Flack as he concluded with two unbelievable, impossible words.

"No sex."

It took Flack a while to realize the man screaming his head off like a girl was himself.

When he did, his clamped his mouth shut, hands fisted in his dark, shorn hair, notepad falling onto the bed. Naaaah, he just made that up, Danny couldn't possibly have said -

"NO SEX."

The second scream of horror was ten times more shrill than the first. Flack felt his heart stop beating. Holy shit, it was the end of the world, the apocalypse was here -

Danny was frantically smacking him on the top of his head to make him quiet.

"Holy - Don, quit it!" The CSI shook him hard by the shoulders, but to no avail.

Flack grabbed at his neck with both hands, tongue sticking out, making whiny, strangled sounds. Oh crap, stars were exploding before his eyes. He couldn't breathe properly anymore, vision going all wonky, room spinning -

"Dan -" Flack coughed out, "I think … I'm … dyin' -"

A sudden slap to his cheek brought him back from the brink.

"See? Seeeeee! Ya can't even think 'bout havin' no sex without havin' a - a panic attack!"

The taller man was still so stunned by being slapped that he couldn't say a word.

"Okay, that's it, that's IT." Danny made a decisive hand motion. "It's official. The challenge begins now!"

"Bu - but … we haven't had any nookie tonight yet!"

Whoa, he never knew Danny could turn that dark a shade of red and purple.

"NO SEX FOR A WEEK, DON!"

The taller detective roughly ran his hands through his mussed hair in frustration. Oh, ohhhh, so that's how his lover wanted to play it, huh? Fine.

"Gimme that!" Flack snatched the ballpoint pen from the other man's clutch, added something beneath the written trial and shoved the paper back.

Danny held the wrinkled notepad between his hands, blue eyes widening ludicrously.

"Wha - no masturbation!"

The homicide detective crossed his arms in front of his robust chest, appearing very smug.

"Damn straight! If we're not gonna have sex for a week, that includes jerkin' ourselves off too!"

The CSI released a high-pitched squeal of outrage.

"You - you …" Danny sputtered some inarticulate words, calmed down then said, "Fine. FINE." He seized the pen from Flack and wrote down something else under Flack's rule.

The notepad slammed straight into Flack's face.

"Oww, shit … that -" The taller man read what the other detective had written.

"What, NO PORN!"

Danny's lips curved up in a very fiendish smile. "Oh yeah. No jerkin' off, no porn!"

Flack swore he could feel steam blasting out his ears.

"Ohh, oohhhhh, OOOOHHHH, you wanna play tough guy, hahn!"

Flack suddenly realized something, and shut his eyes. "Oooohhh, I don't need to look at porn." He angled his head, smiling like an imp. "I got porn central right here in my head, twenty-four seven, three-hundred and sixty-five days of the year, babe." He started pulling up the most erotic memories of them having sex, his smile growing broader. "Mmmm, yeah, spread those legs, Danny, oh babe -"

The other man had taken the now scruffy notepad and was liberally bashing his head with it, growling menacingly. Flack blocked the next few hits with his forearms, still grinning away with his eyes closed.

"Ohhh yeah, Danny, ya feel so good …"

One yelp-inducing blow managed to get through and land right on the top of his skull, shutting him up.

The taller man wrenched the notepad away, rubbing his sore head. Man, who'd have thought getting hit with a freaking notepad could hurt like that? He pouted, glowering at an equally sullen Danny.

"Well, I ain't done yet." Flack picked up the pen that was rolling on the bed between them and jotted down yet another rule for the challenge.

Danny was beginning to look unsure of himself now, which made Flack snigger inwardly. Heh, this ought to make the guy change his mind and throw away this stupid challenge.

" … no use of sex toys, assorted phallic objects or vegetables, including cucumbers, carrots, aubergine … that resemble dildos!"

Flack wagged a forefinger at the gaping, red-faced man. "Ohh, I know you, Messer. Did ya think I was gonna forget yer dildo collection, hmmmm? And I know ya wouldn't think twice 'bout stickin' one a' them veggies up there if it wasn't stated in the rules!"

Flack nearly snickered aloud at Danny dragging downwards at his own face with his fingers in vexation. Oooh hoh, just a little bit more and Danny was gonna brea-

"Fine."

Danny literally signed the damn notepad, a defiant expression on his attractive face.

"I accept your rules. So you gotta accept mine too. And the challenge is still on."

The taller man's hands curled into fists. Damnit! Damnitdamnitdamnit

The notepad with the stupid challenge and the stupid rules and Danny's stupid signature was before him, the ballpoint pen thrust into his face.

"Sign it." Danny smirked mercilessly. "Or are ya a chicken, huh?" To add to the insult, he began making humorous chicken sounds, even flapping his bent arms like wings.

Something snapped like a twig inside Flack's skull.

He wrestled the pen from a sniggering Danny, virtually carving his signature next to the other man's on the paper.

"So there!" Flack flung the pen down in a temper. "Ya happy now?"

"Uh hmm."

The homicide detective's jaw dropped when he saw Danny pointing in the direction of the open bedroom door, face deceivingly blank.

"You … yoooouuu … you're sendin' me to the couch!"

The shorter man blinked innocently at him, eyes wide. "Ohh, I know you, Flack. Did ya think I was gonna let ya sleep in the same bed tonight, knowin' you're gonna try every trick ya got to have sex?" Those big, blue eyes narrowed shrewdly. "And I know ya wouldn't think twice 'bout it!"

This time, Flack let out a scream of fury, looking very much like a Neanderthal caveman who'd totally lost all his ancient marbles.

"You're gonna crack, Messer, ohhh, you're gonna friggin' crack like glass 'fore tomorrow's over!"

Flack furiously seized two pillows from the bed, even attempting to run off with the blanket Danny had around his body. Flack had to let go when the CSI almost bit his hand off.

"Says the sex maniac who screams like a GIRL!"

"CRACK LIKE GLAAAAAAASS!"

Flack stuck up his nose at Danny with a loud hmph, then stormed off to the bedroom doorway.

"Yeah, we'll see 'bout THAT!"

The taller detective slammed the door shut behind him, cutting off whatever Danny was going to yell next. He stomped over to the sofa, sitting heavily on it. Shit. Shitshitshit. He hurled the pillows down beside him, sulking like mad.

No sex.

For an entire week.

No sex with Danny.

For. One. Whole. Week.

Flack kept cool and quiet. For about thirty seconds flat.

By the thirty-third second, he had his face buried in one of the pillows, howling his frustration and beating the couch cushions under him with tight fists.

Not being able to make love with Danny for one whole WEEK?

Don Flack, Jr. was fucking DOOMED.